


sky'd be falling and i'd hold you tight

by soldouthaz



Series: song fics [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, Exes to Lovers, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Smut, Top Harry, ambiguous ending, mentions of death/dying, no major character death included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: it's too much to handle at once but louis needs it this way - needs harry to tether him back to the earth before he floats away from it completely.or before there is no more earth left at all.--an au based on the song by jp saxe and julia michaels
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: song fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547629
Comments: 22
Kudos: 91





	sky'd be falling and i'd hold you tight

The last day of Louis’ life begins like any other. 

He’s slept in way too late already but wakes up blissfully unaware, stretching his body out across the cotton sheets and yawning. The jarring noise coming from his bedside table only registers after he sits up and rubs a closed fist over his eyes sleepily. 

He usually loves mornings, likes to wake up and take a shower before going downstairs to make tea or coffee and eat breakfast. He looks forward to the way that the sun comes in the window and casts a warm glow over his furniture, and how his socks feel on the smooth wood in the den. It makes everything else in his life seem less bad for a bit. Right now, he’s reconsidering why he’s so fond of them. 

Louis assumes the sound is an alarm, something he set last night after one drink too many when his fingers were moving over his keyboard faster than his brain had been working. It’s pitch black in the bedroom despite his large window, which makes him pause for a second because surely it’s past noon by now and he doesn’t remember his curtains being that thick, but he furrows his brows and reaches over to shut off his phone without thinking too much about it. 

His head is pounding worse than he ever remembers it, prickly, sharp pains that flare up every time he moves his eyeballs inside of his head. Apparently drunk Louis doesn’t do his nighttime routine, either, obvious by the rancid taste in his mouth and the thick sheen of sweat layered over his half-naked body. 

He furrows his brows and smacks his dry lips together a few times, trying to remember what led up to this. 

It isn’t too hard, Louis has vivid, flashing memories of taking a cab to the bar across town, throwing back drinks one after the other in an effort to forget some things he really hadn’t wanted to think about. _ Some things _ being his ex and what would’ve been their eight year anniversary, had they stayed together two years ago. He groans. 

Shoving his face into the pillow and moving his arm over the wooden surface of his nightstand, Louis smiles triumphantly when he feels the buzzing phone under his fingertips. 

Only when he successfully has it in his hands does he begin to panic. Through his squinted, sleep-crusted vision, Louis can just barely make out the words of the emergency alert that’s flashing across the majority of his screen. 

He sits up a bit more, furrowing his brows and blinking hard at it, trying to make his eyesight clearer. 

Louis’ sure this is a mistake. Some sick joke being played on his hungover brain and for a minute he has half a mind to call his friends and see which one of them would be this cruel. But then it doesn’t stop - his phone just keeps blaring this loud, scary noise into the quiet of Louis’ flat and flashing the warning on his screen.

The light from it hurts his head even more, but he can’t bring himself to look away. If he listens close enough, he thinks he can hear his neighbors alarm going off, too, only a few feet from where he’s laying. 

It takes him a few tries to get out of bed, his legs tangled in the sheets and body shaking so hard that he thinks he might faint, and then he’s making his way to the den, searching frantically for the remote and flipping on the television. 

And that’s equally as terrifying, he thinks, because it’s making the same noise, only there’s an automated man’s voice playing over the top of it. Louis sinks to the floor as he listens to the repeated announcement. 

“_ We interrupt your programming. This is a national emergency _ ,” it drones, “ _ The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration has detected a significant environmental threat that will greatly impact your area. You and your loved ones should seek the nearest fallout shelter immediately. Please stand by for any further updates _.” 

_ Fallout shelter? _ He thinks. That sounds - _ bad _. 

He doesn’t make it to the bathroom before he’s emptying his stomach all over his floor. There isn’t time to think about the mess or about how it’s going to ruin his new faux wood paneling because he’s going to find his phone again. 

Louis knows they’ve been having issues recently, increasingly bad weather and scary looking skies, but since when was it this bad? It’s making his head hurt. 

His neighbor in the flat next door is a cranky, older man, whom Louis typically avoids at all costs. His wife had passed away some years earlier and he’d become much the opposite of the sweet gentleman he was when Louis first started renting the place. When Harry was around, they used to drop off pies and other baked goods to him on occasions, but he hasn’t spoken to the old man in a while. Now, he rushes out of his flat and over to his door in a matter of seconds, knocking quickly while he chews on his nail. 

No one answers, and for a second Louis thinks something may have already happened, but then he hears him moving around and sighs gratefully. Louis moves to speak, to ask him what’s happening, but he’s cut off before he can. 

“Go home, Louis,” is all the man says. 

His voice is muted because of the thick door between them, but his words hadn’t been hard to make out. Louis takes a step back, slowly, and swallows. He’d spoken low, like he didn’t wish to waste any of his words telling Louis to leave. 

That sets him off even more because while he knows the old man doesn’t like him, he’d never outright told him to leave when he needed something. Louis shivers. 

When he steps back into his apartment, it’s colder than he remembers, and he goes to turn up the thermostat but the screen is muted grey, without any sort of display on it. 

“..._ should seek the nearest fallout shelter immediately. Please stand by for any further updates _…” 

The television is flipped off in a rush when it makes Louis anxious, but the remaining light in the room goes with it. None of the switches are working even as he flips them on and off with renewed vigor, his breathing getting choppier as the sobs build up in his throat. 

His feet work quickly across the floor, over to his window. Ripping the curtains open proves to be a far worse idea, because when Louis looks outside it’s worse than anything he’s ever seen. 

The fogginess of his hangover isn’t even to blame for the way he can’t make out the street below him for the smoke in the air. The only color besides grey is the abnormally bright yellow and orange that meets the sky in the distance, but everything blurs together in one big, dark swirl of ash and dirt. Wincing a bit and shutting the curtain again, Louis stumbles backwards until he hits the dining table. The building across the street that he sees when he eats breakfast in the morning is unrecognizable. 

He hisses as the skin pinched between his fingers burns on his arm, checking to make sure that this is real. 

It is, apparently. 

Trying to dial his family doesn’t work either, and Louis gets only a monotonous hum through the other end of the line when he checks. When he’d moved to the city, he hadn’t known anyone and if he’s being honest, he still really doesn’t. 

His job didn’t allow much time for friends, only artificial, morally blank young people that thought being his friend meant sharing in his fame. With a sigh, he realizes the only person he really knows in the entire city is Harry. 

And that’s definitely not an option, given the way they’d ended things. Not to mention the fact that it’s taken Louis this long just to be able to hear his name without it ripping his heart out. But what other option does he have? 

With a groan, Louis tosses his cell phone across the room, watching it shatter into tiny, black pieces of glass upon impact with the wall. He slides to the floor with a thud and sinks his face into his hands. 

They’d sent out flyers in the mail a few months back, stock sull of information about the different types of warnings and what to do in each situation after things had gotten worse. Unfortunately, Louis’d thrown that out immediately after opening it. 

He’s pretty sure the precautionary monologue playing on the television is at the top of that list, the highest of dangers included in the pamphlet. He’d been a bit hungover that morning, too, but when he glanced down at the flyer it was the one that had bolded, red, underlined text next to it. He also remembers something about imminent death. 

Louis swallows and sways to the side again when he feels like he’s going to be sick. 

It’s just so unfair, he thinks, because while he’s been able to accomplish much more than the average person in life, there’s still so much left he wants to do. Like stop drinking, for instance, _ again _, and get some other tattoos, write some more music. But more than that, he wants to be truly happy before he goes. Wants to find someone to share that happiness with. 

But what can he do now? If this really is the end of the world, what is he going to do about it? 

Part of Louis wants to just sit here and let it happen, but he’s much too anxious for that. He feels like there are bolts of static electricity inside of him, zipping up and down his spine and making him shiver where his skin touches the cool tile of the kitchen floor. 

Everything is still dark, and Louis listens for sound instead of using his sight. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly and leaning his head back against the chair, he bites his lip. 

There’s the ticking of his clock to the right, a small thing that’s hanging above the light switch. Louis usually just checks the time on his phone, but he’d kept that around because it was from his mother. He remembers vividly the day he’d gotten it, a birthday gift right before he left home to go chase his dreams. It was originally in his bedroom, but he couldn’t sleep with the noise so he’d relocated it soon after. 

Then, in the kitchen, there’s the low hum of the coffee maker, plugged in next to the fridge. It’d been extremely aggravating after he’d brought it home only to find out that it was always loud, grumbling every few minutes and spitting out hot water when Louis wasn’t paying attention. Over the years, he’d grown fond of it. Harry’d loved it since the beginning. Many late night talks and early morning cuddles had been spent by it, with that same noise playing in the background of all of his best memories. 

Slightly louder than the sound of his uneven breathing, Louis can also hear the flickering noise of his television behind him, even though he’d turned it off. The same TV he’d just watched yesterday evening, sat up with a bag of crisps in his hand and paying close attention to the game. 

His eyes are still shut but he feels a bit better now, more like he won’t fall over if he tries to stand. He tries to, grabs onto the side of the table and begins pulling himself off the ground with shaky hands, but he’s falling back down again at the sound of a gunshot. 

Staying completely still, Louis whimpers around the bile in the back of his throat and brings a hand up to cover his mouth when it falls open. He hadn’t heard anyone in the hallway or outside his window. No, what he’d heard had been on the other side of his wall. 

The sob Louis lets out is loud and raw, more of a yell than anything else, and his fingers go numb on the wooden leg of the table. And he - he’s got to do _ something _. 

He’s got to talk to someone, get things off of his chest, find some answers. 

Without much thought, Louis doesn’t bother grabbing his keys or his coat when he heads out the front door. Stepping lightly onto the stairs, he turns around and gives his neighbor’s door one last watery glance and a sharp nod of goodbye before he’s taking them two at a time down to the lobby. 

It doesn’t register that there isn’t anyone around, Louis knows he’s probably the only one who’s stupid enough to go out in whatever this is anyway, but he doesn’t care. He’s got to do something, _ anything _. 

He coughs when he exits the building, wincing at the onslaught of smoke and stench that assaults him. He tries not to look up at the sky, but it’s difficult not to. The blue is almost unrecognizable, painted over with dark greys and smoky oranges that Louis thinks could have been pretty if under different circumstances. 

A car alarm goes off somewhere to his left, startling him and making him walk much quicker in the direction he’s going. 

He doesn’t have to think too hard about it - knows the way to his destination like the back of his hand. Knows it better than he should after two years of not being there. 

The harsh wind blows his hair around his face, even though it’s hot around him and he’s beginning to sweat a bit underneath his tee shirt. Still, he doesn’t stop. 

Harry’s building looks the same as he remembers it, tall with red bricks and bright green trees planted along the front of it. They’re covered in soot and ash now, their branches weighed down with the heaviness of it, but Louis would know them anymore. 

Both of them have enough money to be living much better, in big, fancy homes away from all of the issues they’ve got in their dodgy flats, but they’d always agreed that this felt more like them. 

He runs up the steps and doesn’t have to buzz in because the door’s already partially open when he reaches it. The other set of stairs he’s got to go up are blurry when he passes over them from the way his body is vibrating with nerves, but he grabs onto the rail beside him and keeps moving in the right direction. 

928, Harry’s flat number, isn’t easy to miss. It’s the first one on that floor off of the landing, displayed in flaky, bronze numbers next to the moulding of the door. The nine is still crooked, no matter how many times Harry’s told him he was going to get it fixed, and the bit of normalcy makes Louis’ lips quirk up on one side despite the circumstances. 

He knocks once, twice, three times. Hears Harry walking around inside, can tell when he glances through the peephole to see who’s there. He tries not to think about what he’s going to do if Harry doesn’t open it. 

Louis doesn’t have to worry too much about it because Harry swings open the door in a flash of movement, pulling Louis in by his shirt and shutting and locking the door quickly behind him. 

“What were you thinking?” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, breathy and inquisitive. 

Louis wonders if he’s talking about going outside in the bad weather or if he’s asking him what he was thinking when he ruined their relationship. 

Hands on his hips, wide eyes flicking over Louis’ body, Harry hasn’t changed. His hair is shorter now, different from when Louis used to be able to run his fingers through it, but it suits him. He doesn’t think there’s anything that _ doesn’t _ suit him. 

“Louis?” Harry waves a hand at him, “Did you hear me? Are you alright?”

With a jerk of his arm, Louis tells him, “I like your hair.” 

For a second Harry just stares at him with his eyebrows turned in, forehead wrinkling at Louis’ words. But then he’s smiling, rolling his lips together and shaking his head at the ground. 

His arms make their way around Louis’ back a moment after. Louis exhales. 

“Missed you,” Harry says. 

Pulling away from him is difficult but Louis looks up at him when he remembers why he’s here. 

“What’s going on, H?”

When Harry opens his mouth helplessly and his smile fades, Louis pushes on. 

“Are we-” he chokes, “are we going to die?” 

“I don’t know, love.” He shakes his head sadly. 

The television here is making the same noise as the one from his own house, but Harry’s got his volume up and there’s a blanket on the ground in front of it, like Harry’d been sitting there watching it before he got up to answer the door. 

“Were you - does your phone work?”

Harry shakes his head again, “No, I’ve been trying to call my family all morning,” he pauses, “and you.” 

Despite this possibly being their last few hours alive, Harry is frustratingly calm. He holds Louis’ shaking hands in his steady ones, and he tries to match Harry’s breathing. 

Louis probably shouldn’t be surprised. Harry’s always been a constant, it’s one of the reasons Louis loved him. Still loves him. In all of the ways that Louis is frantic, strung up, and anxious, Harry is stable and secure. Louis’ almost forgotten how nice it is to be around him, how much easier it is to breathe in and out. 

Still, he can’t manage to stop his brain from whirring inside of his head. 

“What do we do?” 

“We wait,” Harry says, shrugging, “that’s all we can do.” 

Letting himself be led over to the couch with a hand on his arm, Louis sits down and glances up at the television while Harry goes to the kitchen. The blanket on the ground in front of him smells like Harry, so he picks it up and wraps it around himself while he waits even though he isn’t really cold. 

This is all so _ sad _. If he’d known, he would've done so many things differently. He would’ve called home more, told his siblings he loved them. He’d have brought the man next door some hot meals and checked in to make sure he was okay. And he would’ve taken things more seriously, like his relationship with Harry. 

If he’d have done that from the beginning instead of acting like an immature teenager, he probably would’ve been over here right now anyway, except he’d have already been living here. With Harry. He never would’ve left. 

“Here you go,” Harry comes back into the room holding two mugs, handing one to Louis and keeping the other for himself as he sits on the edge of the sofa. While he settles in, Louis tries not to be hurt by the distance. 

“Thank you.” 

Harry nods, sipping slowly and turning away from Louis to check the TV again. 

Louis’ seen Harry when he’s nervous. It’s very rare, all high voice and jerky movements, wide eyes afraid to meet his own. That isn’t what he’s like right now. His legs are crossed, propped up on the coffee table in front of him, and he’s watching the screen like it’s the morning news and not the most terrifying thing they’ve ever experienced. Louis can’t help but ask. 

“Why are you so calm?” 

Looking down at his cup, Harry bites his lip, “I don’t have any regrets.” 

And that hurts a bit, because while Louis knows he’s probably talking about in his career or his family, it feels like he’s talking about not being with Louis. He takes a sip of the tea Harry got for him to hide the way his eyes begin to water. 

“So, you’re just, like, okay?” Louis swallows, clearing his throat, “You’re okay with dying?” 

Harry thinks to himself for a few minutes before he responds. Louis wants to run over there, shake him, tell him they haven’t got time to waste, but he stays where he’s at and drums his fingers against the mug to distract himself. 

“I don’t want to die, if that’s what’s happening, but I don’t feel upset about it. I’m in a good place, I think.” 

He must notice the way Louis’ mouth falls open slightly, because Harry sighs and sets his cup down, taking a seat next to Louis. 

“Why did you come here, Louis?” 

The question startles him a little, and he’s put off by the way Harry’s used his full name. Before he can stop it, he’s got tears running down his cheeks. 

“I don’t know, I had to do _ something _ \- had to,” his voice cuts out around the time Harry tugs him into his chest, and he rubs his cheek against the material to soothe himself. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Lou. I just meant, why me?” 

Louis pulls away to frown at him. 

“What?” Harry asks. 

“You don’t know why?” 

Tilting his head, Harry shakes it back and forth. 

“Because leaving you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.” 

It doesn’t give away too much information, Louis doesn’t tell him he’s still very much pathetically in love with him and that he has been since he walked out, or that he wishes he could’ve been better. He will, though. 

And Harry sits there, across from him, looking confused and trailing his eyes over Louis’ face. He’s trying to determine if Louis’ telling the truth. Louis’ got all of his tics memorized. He knows what nearly every expression means and what he’s probably going to say next, like right now. 

“Louis,” he breathes. 

He was right. 

“And I know that everything was my fault and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m so scared, Harry. So I have to tell you that I -” he swallows around the lump in his throat, “I love you. I never stopped loving you and -”

The rest of his speech is cut short when Harry presses his lips to his, warm and comfortable and normal in a way that nothing else around them is right now. 

Harry kisses him slowly and with a purpose, the same way he used to. Louis’ mind replays a memory of when they’d first come down off the rush of their last tour. He’d pulled Harry into their new flat and kissed him hard, pushed his hands up inside of his shirt to get it off faster. Harry’d grabbed his hands and parted from his lips, had whispered to him that they had all the time in the world. 

It turns out that all the time in the world is running out, but it’s easier to think about when Harry’s got a hand on the side of his face, running his thumb over his cheek and moving their lips together like they really do have forever. 

“What-” Harry breaks away from him, “what do you want?” 

It doesn’t take him long to think about it. 

“You,” catching his breath, Louis glances up at him, “one last time. Please.” 

Seemingly relieved, Harry smiles when he leans in to kiss him for the second time, letting his hands slide under Louis’ shirt to touch his skin. He doesn’t tense because it doesn’t feel weird or different. It feels like exactly what he’s been missing, the sort of thing only Harry’s ever been able to provide for him. 

Louis leans further into his touch, chasing his lips as he undoes the buttons of Harry’s shirt. His heart is beating quickly inside of his chest, hammering on his rib cage in a way he knows Harry can feel even through their layers of clothing, but he’s not in a rush. The rest of him moves slowly, reaching over to put a hand over Harry’s chest and feel his pulse in return. 

Foreheads pressed together, Harry tilts back to pull Louis’ tee shirt over his head. After Louis returns the favor he slides into Harry’s lap without hesitation, Harry’s hands coming to rest on his spine and rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

Louis smiles when he glances down. Their tattoos have always looked amazing together. Partially because the images were actually _ made _ to complement the other, but also because their bodies fit so well. The ink on Harry fills in all of the empty spots on Louis and vice versa. When they were younger, he used to imagine what they’d look like when they were old together. 

He guesses tonight is as far as they’re going to get. He sucks in a breath and tries to memorize them again while he can. 

Harry takes Louis’ face in his hands, rubbing their noses together and smiling just enough that his dimples show. He kisses the corner of Louis’ mouth lightly before moving a hand down to his pants and Louis gasps. 

Being with Harry in a relationship had been the highlight of Louis’ life. Domesticity and sweetness and just the right amount of subtle authority that had Louis waking up with a blissed-out grin on his face every morning next in their shared bed. 

But being with Harry physically was something else altogether. All those years ago when they were fresh out of school and hadn’t really figured everything out yet, they’d been each other’s first time. It’d been an awkward mess of long, gangly limbs and it’d ended much too soon, but Louis knew even then he was ruined for anyone else. 

They just understand each other, is the thing. Harry knows him better than anyone else in the world, Louis has no doubt. He’d like to think he knows Harry in much the same way, even if they’d been apart for some time in between. 

Louis wants to tell him that even if this is all a false alarm and they make it out alive, he wants to stay here with him. He’d promise him to be better and not mess everything up this time. 

He keeps his mouth shut, though, because Louis doesn’t really think this _ is _ a false alarm, and it all feels very real. Either way, he’s going to allow himself the pleasure of having Harry to himself one last time before they think about anything else. 

Harry doesn’t have to ask when he reaches a hand down the back of Louis’ pants, when he touches the pad of a cool finger against his hole. It’s familiar and Louis leans into it openly, panting into Harry’s open mouth when his breath catches. 

He opens Louis up just like he used to, with skilled, punctuated movements of his wrist and soft words whispered in his ear, fingers spreading out inside of him. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes for Louis’ hips to begin working back into his hand. He can feel Harry beneath him, hot and straining against his jeans. 

Louis moves a hand down to touch him, to make him feel even half as good as he’s feeling right now, but he flinches and pulls back instead when something hits the window outside. 

Whatever it was had been loud, and sounded like it shattered upon impact just a few feet away from where they’re sitting. Luckily it hadn’t broken Harry’s window, but Louis still fits his head underneath Harry’s chin and whimpers a bit at the disruption and the reminder of what’s going on outside. 

“Sh,” Harry soothes him, running a hand down the back of his head and rubbing their cheeks together. 

He stands him up next to the sofa, kisses him again before getting down on his knees to slide the rest of Louis’ clothes off as well as his own. Louis doesn’t even bother trying to cover himself or turning away, because Harry’s seen all of him so many times that he wasn’t even able to keep count. 

Pressing his lips into Louis’ skin, Harry makes his way back up to his full height, sitting back down on the sofa and pulling Louis on top of him again. His skin is still warm despite the chill in the room, and Louis tries to move even closer in the low light of Harry’s flat. 

After the shock of the noise dies down and Louis feels calmer again, he pulls Harry’s hand back around his body and uses his own to touch the leaking head of Harry’s cock. 

His reaction is immediate, groaning and looking down at Louis through half-lidded eyes. Harry’s fingers stutter where they’re pressed deep into Louis, flexing sporadically. It’s all coming back to him now, where and how Harry likes to be touched. He smiles. 

“Louis,” he moans, panting. 

“Please, H,” Louis whines, “‘M ready.” 

Nice and slow like everything else he does, Harry lifts him off of his lap and holds him steady, positioning his cock at Louis’ entrance. Cupping his cheek with the other hand, he kisses him one last time. 

“I love you, Lou,” he says. 

Louis smiles. 

“I love you, too, H.” 

Sinking down slowly, Louis inhales sharply at the stretch, but doesn’t focus on it too long. 

He’s gone out to parties, tried to flirt with other people and settle for whatever they’ve got to offer. It just doesn’t work. Now, Louis remembers why. 

They aren’t Harry. 

So, he hasn’t been with anyone in two years, and it’s a lot, but Harry’s holding him again, arms wrapped tight around his arms and torso and clinging to Louis like he needs him just as much. The twinge of discomfort fades away in between one breath and the next, when Harry starts working his hips up gently, in small circles that have Louis’ head falling into his chest all over again. 

With a soft sigh, he mouths at Harry’s collar bone and breathes in the scent there. He smells the same - like warm blankets and his favorite cologne and a bit like coming back home after a long day. His tears run all the way down to the laurels on Harry’s stomach, but their rhythm doesn’t falter. 

Harry just tightens his grip and moves them together faster, shifting up when Louis presses down. Here, at Harry’s, there’s no ticking of the clock in the background, no coffee maker and there’s more than just the sound of Louis’ own breathing. He’s not alone anymore. 

Underneath him, where Harry’s body moves languidly up into his and where his arms circle around Louis’ small waist, everything is louder. It’s in the way Harry whispers sweetly into his ear when Louis bites his lip, and it’s the sound that their skin makes when they move together. 

The wind is still blowing hard outside the window, sending things crashing against the exterior of Harry’s building and shaking the pictures hanging on the wall even through the bricks. Louis can’t concentrate on any of that now. 

His legs become tired soon from his exertion, and he lays his cheek on the glistening skin of Harry’s chest on top of one of his tattoos. He can feel it when Harry presses his feet into the coffee table so he’s able to move more efficiently, and when his grip on Louis tightens enough to take his breath away. 

It’s too much to handle at once but Louis needs it this way - needs Harry to tether him back to the earth before he floats away from it. Or before there is no more earth left at all. 

Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, Louis moves his body using the little energy he’s got left to continue working himself back and forth. He can feel Harry’s legs behind him and he uses them to keep himself upright, tangling his fingers in Harry’s curls when he speeds up. 

They both moan when a jolt of Harry’s hips has his cock hitting perfectly inside of Louis, and he leans his shivering form into his arms to keep from falling over. 

Harry just takes him in his arms, stroking the back of his head and murmuring his encouragement into Louis’ hair. 

“So good, Lou,” he whispers, “missed this so much.” 

“Harry,” he whimpers, fingernails digging into the ship on Harry’s arm as he rocks back and forth and another crash sounds against the window. 

When they were together before, they’d only done it like this, without anything between them, a few times near the end. There hadn’t been any real risk but they’d wanted to be safe. Louis remembers the way Harry nearly fainted the first time they went without, rocking up into him a few times before he finished and then just laying together for hours afterward, even when they were sticky and in need of a shower. 

The thing is, it feels incredible on both ends. Right now, in Harry’s lap, Louis’ lost his mind, hands grabbing at the sides of his face and eyes stuck on Harry’s low gaze. 

Much different from Harry’s earlier behavior, Louis lets himself be moved around under his quick hands, frantic and grabbing for purchase on hot, sweat-slick skin. He’s fast now, eyes unwaveringly focused on Louis’ while his mouth drops open. 

He can still tell when Harry’s close, can feel it in the way his eyes clench shut and his jaw ticks. Louis could cry at how much he’s missed that face. He presses his lips to Harry’s when it becomes too much. 

The room is completely silent when Harry pushes up into him for the last time, stilling dramatically and mouthing at Louis’ open lips with a quiet gasp. 

It still ends too soon. It’s beginning to rain outside the window now, lightning flickering and thunder rolling steadily in the distance. 

Louis doesn’t flinch anymore when it booms over their heads. 

Instead, he presses his forehead into Harry’s and breathes him in deep, runs his gaze over every part of his body he can see and tries to mold them together so hard that he hurts his shoulder blade a bit. 

Gentle fingers pry him away from where he’s nosing around Harry’s ear and the side of his face, pressing soft lips to his own to calm him. 

“Love you,” Harry breathes. 

“Love you, too, H,” he tells him, turning his face into his open palm and trying to imprint the feeling on his skin. 

\--

Afterwards, when Harry’s cleaned them both up and gotten them both another warm cup of tea, Louis lets his eyes drift back to the television in the corner. 

In a weird, sort of morbid way, knowing that they could only have a few minutes left to live is comforting. Louis feels free in a way he never has before, like he can do anything he wants without fear of judgement. 

To prove his theory, he grabs Harry’s wrist and pulls him down to where he’s sitting on the floor. Harry situates himself directly across from Louis, and their knees are touching where they’ve got their legs criss-crossed. 

The fear he felt earlier is dissipating the more he sips and the more Harry runs his fingers through his hair, leaving him content and pleasantly lethargic in one of Harry’s shirts. 

“Why did you leave, Louis?” 

Harry must be feeling the same thing he is, his words straight forward and his gaze unwavering as he stares at Louis. 

“I felt like you deserved more,” Louis says, “You had so many plans for the future that I knew you would do so well at and I didn’t want to stand in your way.” 

Louis can tell he’s not angry when Harry traces the lines on the inside of Louis’ palm distractedly, just curious. He doesn’t blame him. 

“I wish you would’ve stayed. I could’ve told you that wasn’t true,” he rectracts his hand to run it through his own hair, “I thought I did something to make you leave.”

“No, you never did anything wrong. I just got insecure and if I could go back I never would’ve left.”

It doesn’t feel like enough, but Louis could probably spend the rest of the time they _ do _ have trying to explain it to him and it still wouldn’t come out right. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Harry just shushes him, pulling him forward to peck his lips once. 

“No more apologies. Just us, yeah?” 

“Just us,” Louis agrees, “just us.” 

They manage to spend a few more hours together, soundtracked by more thunder and the noise of sirens and erratic crashes outside, before it’s time. The lamp behind the sofa and the chandelier over Harry’s dining table begin to shake, a few of his decorations falling off of the counters and shattering on the ground. 

The TV flickers back on behind Harry’s head with a louder sound than the one before, and they both turn to look. 

“Seek shelter immediately. This broadcast will go dark in five…” 

Harry turns back to him, grabbing his face in both of his hands and squeezing, staring into Louis’ eyes and opening his mouth. He isn’t scared anymore, not with Harry here. 

“_ Four… _” 

Louis’ eyes are watering, but other than that he feels calm. He’s always felt safe in Harry’s arms. Harry links their fingers together in his lap. 

“I love you,” Harry says.

“_ Three… _” 

When he laughs, grinning back at Harry, a tear trails down the side of his face. Louis can feel it hit his leg when Harry runs his thumb over Louis’ bottom lip, the light outside of his window glowing bright enough that it illuminates all of Harry’s face in the darkness. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers. 

“_ Two… _” 

Harry leans forward, touches their lips together like he’s done for years for the last time before Louis’ taking a deep breath, breathing him in just like he used to, and then - 

“_ One _.” 

  
—

Louis wakes up in his bed after his alarm goes off with a gasp, dried tears on his cheeks, his hand clutched over where his heart is on his shirt, heartbroken and alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> based on the song 'If the world was ending' by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels 
> 
> you can reblog this work [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/190853391761) :)


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